


Empty Bottles

by TheManSings



Series: the next day and forever after that [5]
Category: Shameless (US), Shameless - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:07:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManSings/pseuds/TheManSings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the only thing Mickey promised to not ask him about is the only thing he can think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Bottles

There’s something about coming clean—about telling someone that you have a giant chink in your armor and that sometimes it gets infected and that you need to watch it and be careful but _please don’t watch it_.

Mickey has been staring at his own damn fucking reflection for almost an hour now, counting the seconds and minutes and going over this scenario. Wondering incessantly what’s worse, to notice or to not. Because he’s not fucking dumb and Ian knows that better than anyone so this had to have been a mistake. Or a secret—or he was overreacting or just, just –

He lurched over and threw the empty pill bottle onto the floor grabbing each side of the toilet and heaving expelled gasps of choking air. Nothing wanted to come out of him, only wanted to stay inside and laugh and grip each lung while cackling about control. Because one of them was fucking losing it.

“Are you ok?” Ian’s voice sounded laced with concern on the other side of their bathroom door. His knuckles knocking a soft tap.

Mickey sprung up turning so fast on his heels the tiles squealed against his feet. A jolt of pain rocking through his leg as a chunk of skin caught and ripped free from being too damn sweaty.  The doorknob slipped underneath his fingers and he was a little dizzy—The barrier between them now whipping open because he must have done it, had to be him what with Ian looking so goddamn surprised.

“Are you taking your meds?” The words felt like a punch from his chest. Adrenaline spiking every nerve making it that much more difficult just to even breathe steady and he needed to be calm. He could totally be calm.

“What?” Ian’s eyes somehow both going wide while the dip between each brow crumpled in denial. “What are you—“

“Your fucking meds.” He reached over to pick up the empty bottle left rolling on the floor. His arm just barely hitting him smack in the face as he shook the container for emphasis. “The bottle is empty.”

Calm, be calm, be fucking _calm_.

Ian stood taller enabling his shirt to pull just a little with the arch of his back. The bottom sliver of his stomach revealed and dashed with goose bumps over scratches. He always wakes up with scratches – or bruises. Mickey thought for a long time it was him, that _he_ was destroying Ian’s body in the middle of the night in fits of anonymity but he only ever smiled and shook his head.

‘ _Mick the only reason I’m able to sleep at all is because you’re next to me.’_

And his pills – his fucking pills.

He pushed past Ian breaking free from the bathroom that was magically shrinking and pressing against his bones. Each step wanting to be pounded deep into their floor to prove that _I can make this world quake_ but he couldn’t. Had to hop limp just to keep from leaving a trace of blotched blood spots.

Ian turned making Mickey’s stomach queasy from the scent of him caught on the air. “You’re bleeding.” Where? Where was he bleeding? Just his foot or could he see inside at the way his lungs were still screaming trying to fight for someway to push air to his brain before he short circuited.

“Yes I know I’m bleeding.” He threw up his hand back to the bathroom. “It’s that fucking floor I told you we should have got a damn rug—“

A new surge of anger coursed through him. Because they had been at the store and he should have bought it, should have thought to throw it in their carriage full of only booze and cheap deli sandwiches no doubt past their sell date. Suddenly the importance of that one failed moment seemed greater than anything else and he could feel the frustration pushing against his eyeballs with such a pressure he could be having an aneurism.

Mickey stood there, foot bleeding chest huffing having to face up to the fact that he was unable to stop the prickling behind his eyes. He was standing there unable to help – fucking _useless_ and angry and concerned more than he thought he had the capacity for and _crying_.

“Mick—“ A warm hand wrapped around his shoulder tracing along his collarbone and _he_ had goose bumps now. A transfer of blemishes igniting the thought that maybe he wasn’t the one destroying Ian at all. “Mickey sit down -- your foot.”

“I’m fine.”

But he felt like he couldn’t control his limbs. Like some fucked up doll of Mandy’s he had tried to break the arms and legs off of but they only just got stuck.

So they lay there twisted and crooked looking _wrong_ and she would cry. Hysterical sobs of _fix them Mickey please – they’re terrifying._

“You swore—“ Ian started, keeping light fingers wrapped around his ankle now propped up on his own thigh. Their limbs entangled on the couch and Mickey couldn’t remember agreeing to this. He didn’t want to sit he wanted to stomp and scream shake this ground. If the foundation was weakening he wanted proof, let’s watch it crumble. “You promised you wouldn’t ask me about that remember? It’s the one thing.”

He watched the way Ian held himself. The slight tremors no other eye would pick up on and the way his voice had a fine line of always being between a whisper and a scream. How much focus it must take him every second of every day to just keep control – He was stronger than anyone gave him credit for, including Mickey.

“You’re not taking them.” His voice sounded choked --the anger now dissipated to concern and that made him mad. A dog chasing his fucking tail running circles inside his head both upset by his own inflicted bite and pissed he can’t reach it. “The bottle is empty I saw that and you—“ Ian’s body flinched against Mickey’s touch as he pounded closed fists against his chest. “You’re fucking off man!”

He ripped his foot free and fell from the couch scrambling off of his hands and knees. Light leaked out from a crack in their fridge and it hadn’t even occurred to him that Ian might have come home and relaxed before hearing him choking in the bathroom.

It was a little past midnight, they should be fucking by now.

Mickey slammed the door shut with too much force making it do nothing but bounce back open. Another hit, another bounce – hit, bounce, open, hit, bounce, open—“Fuck!”

“I’m taking my meds.” Ian watched on. “I ran out today, have to refill my prescription tomorrow.”

Mickey grabbed a beer now leaving the door wide because he could give a shit if anything went bad and fuck their electric bill. They weren’t paying it anyway.

“Good.”

Silence hung between them. The house sighing and creaking in sadness because _if walls could talk_ and all that.

“I’m ok Mick, I’m just—“ They stared blankly with unfocused eyes. “I’m just not ok all the time.” Ian rubbed a hand over his face before letting his spine crumble. It looked painful, like his back had broken compared to just poor posture.

“Yea I know.” He chewed his lip.

Mickey moved back closer to where he sat. Each step suctioned his foot to the floor allowing for the grating sound of peeling flesh to be the only disrupting noise. Every step hurting like a punishment for ever having got up in the first place. _What you want to go back now? Should have thought about that earlier._

“Does it hurt?” Ian moved his eyes to the leg once again propped up on top of him. “You could need stitches.”

“I’m fine.” He handed the beer off and leaned further into the cushions. Fingers drummed calmly against his leg. "I’ll grab some shit for it from CVS tomorrow.”  A headache began to melt against his mind. “I can get your prescription too.”

And he’s sure he was an asshole. Sure that everything plucked from his body was nothing but an overreaction of reality around him. All messed up and blurred half in his dreams and half conniving enough to make him think it was actually happening. This was his way of apologizing while still slapping you in the face. Of making sure he knows the pills are here and in the house so he can check every night when Ian’s at work to make sure there is the right amount left.

Ian knows, he knows.

“That’d be great.”

The beer slides onto the table before he can decide if he wants to drink more or not. Ian’s hands now applying more pressure lighting his skin on fire.

It’s 12:30 they should be fucking by now.


End file.
